


Another Time

by Lavender_Persimmon305



Category: Gloryhammer (Band)
Genre: Blood, F/M, Fantasy Violence, Flirting, Pining, Romance, Smolder of Fife, Snark, hammer wielding, injuries, look my ofc is a doctor there's going to be blood and shit, seriously Angus that smirk is deadly
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-30
Updated: 2019-10-16
Packaged: 2020-09-30 19:37:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,966
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20452475
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lavender_Persimmon305/pseuds/Lavender_Persimmon305
Summary: The King of the Intergalactic Great Empire of Fife falls through an interdimensional portal into another version of Earth, seriously wounded from a battle on Mars with the dread wizard Zargothrax, and ends up huddled on someone's back porch.





	1. Regis Dundoniensis

**Author's Note:**

> I am so very new to the mighty Gloryhammer fandom, so please be kind. This is AU as hell, but I had a plot bunny whack me over the head with the Hammer of Glory, so here we are. This is also un-beta'ed, so if anyone would like to take that position, I'd be immensely grateful. Thanks so much!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After being sent through a portal during the battle on Mars, Angus McFife XIII finds himself on another version of Earth.

When she had found the old farm property tucked in front of a forest, its barn and main house intact and recently refurbished, Dr. Jessica Greenwood had been thinking more about the possibility of a vegetable garden and maybe beehives than the lack of neighbors. She hadn't thought of the numerous hiding places her back porch could offer when she had set out comfortable lounge chairs and large potted plants. And she certainly hadn't thought she'd top off a grueling 12-hour shift at the clinic by finding a man in chest armor, knee-high boots, metallic leggings, and clutching an oversized battle hammer collapsed on said porch when she arrived home, his blood staining the cheerful swirls of her patio rug.

But nonetheless, that was where she currently found herself. Rain fell softly on the tin roof of the porch, the clucking of chickens in their coop mixing with the soft shush of the breeze in the woods behind the house. Despite the tranquility of the countryside, the weekend was already shaping up to be a little out of the ordinary. She sat on a lounge chair across from the alleged knight-errant, patching his various wounds with supplies from her kitchen first-aid kit, and trying not to worry that she'd left her cell phone inside on the counter.

"But I'm a king!" The brown-haired man's hands fisted over the silvery fabric of his trousers in frustration. His knuckles were bruised and bloody beneath the wrists of his gauntlets, the heavy material of his cape scuffed with an occasional tear.

Jessica smiled indulgently and applied antiseptic ointment to the cut on the man's forehead, causing a hiss of pain to escape between his clenched teeth. "Of course you are, sir," she replied, dabbing at the crusted blood that had trailed down his temple toward the beard dusting his jaw. She eyed the intricately carved symbols on his green leather armor, the pattern reminiscent of Celtic designs she'd seen on a trip to Edinburgh last year. "How did a king come to be collapsed on my back porch, huddled behind a chair and cuddling a large hammer?" she queried, reaching for a butterfly bandage to close the cut, her nitrile gloves sticking a little to the wrapping’s adhesive. "The Ren Faire is downtown, you're a good half hour away from it."

Angus McFife, Thirteenth of His Name, King of Fife, Keeper of the Hammer of Glory, Ruler of Dundee, frowned and blinked. "I'm uncertain of this faire that you speak of, my lady, but I fell through a portal opened by the evil Wizard Zargothrax whilst we fought. Thusly, I find myself here, under your care." He smiled in a charming manner at the redhaired woman still in her work clothes, wincing when his ribs ached from an in-drawn breath.

"Wizard, really? Like, Harry Potter-type or Doctor Strange-type?" She pushed up her glasses with the back of her wrist, wrinkling her nose slightly to settle them in place. She wondered if she could somehow knock him out and run inside to grab her phone to call the police before he retaliated. She wasn't sure if he had escaped from a mental therapy facility, or if he'd hit his head in some kind of cosplay jousting accident. She was beginning to regret cancelling her Girls Night plans for nachos and a movie with her friends.

Angus shrugged, the edges of his pauldron creaking faintly with the movement, and allowed her to pick up one of his hands to begin cleaning it. "Zargothrax is indeed strange, though not much of a gardener, so no, I wouldn't say he is a potter. I can't say, though, if he is a hairy man, as he is almost always dressed in robes." He started when she suddenly began laughing, confusion etching his face as he stared at her. "Are you well, my lady?" he asked, concerned. While her laugh was quite delightful, he observed, he worried that perhaps she had taken leave of her senses.

She stopped laughing and cleared her throat when she realized he was very serious. "I'm fine, thanks. Sorry," she amended, tossing her hair back out of her eyes as she bent to her task again. "Okay, robe-wearing wizard, got it. And you're a king?" If she kept him talking, if she kept him calm, maybe she could just send him on his merry way and contact the authorities once he was off her property.

"Aye, my lady, King of Dundee, Lord of the Crystalline Throne, Emperor of the Galactic Kingdom of Fife, Wielder of the Hammer of Glory..." He smiled again and tightened his fingers around hers. "But it would please me greatly if you would call me Angus." The blush spreading over her freckled cheeks delighted him, and he felt a prickling in the back of his memory that he couldn't quite place. He pushed it away, vowing to mull over it later when he wasn't feeling so exhausted.

She bit her lip, her hazel eyes going very wide. "That's one heck of a smolder you've got there, Mr. McFife," she admitted, her cheeks turning pink in spite of herself, and he grinned. In her defense, his accent and slight lisp was rather hard to resist.

"Angus," he insisted, pitching his voice a little lower, and damn it if she didn't swallow down a giggle, he would swear on it.

"Mr. McFife," Jessica returned firmly, clearing her throat again to center herself.

"Your Majesty?" he tried, earning himself a roll of her eyes as she shook her head and spread antibiotic salve across his knuckles and wrapped them with gauze. He sighed at her reserved response, and shifted in his seat, one palm flattening against his side as an injury protested. The pain was growing sharper there. He remembered a blade in Zargothrax's hand, the sorcerer lunging towards him just before a portal opened suddenly at his back. "I'm afraid I didn't catch your name, my lady," he grunted, trying to find a more comfortable position and failing. He pulled his hand away from his side, frowning in confusion at the blood coating his fingers. When had he begun bleeding?

Jessica saw the crimson stain on his palm and hastily reached for the buckles on the side of his chest plate. Angus reared back from her sudden movement and gasped at the jagged rush of pain that flared across his torso. "I'm trying to see what's going on with your ribs!" she explained, ignoring his request for an introduction. She looked up at him in worry while gently trying to move his hands away.

He tried for humor again, even as his vision started to waver like oil on water. "If you wanted to undress me so badly, my lady, you only--" he broke off on a shout when she undid the buckles and released the confines of his armor. The tattered edges of his tunic peeled away, revealing a wicked gash in his side.

"Holy shit, you've been stabbed!" she hissed, blood beginning to coat the fingers of her gloves. "Lay down, you fool!"

Angus, whose skin was now several shades into ashen, nodded weakly as she helped him recline, the careful cradle of her palm on the back of his head soothing.

_"Your Majesty!"_

The bellow made the king try to sit up again, but Jessica shoved him back down as she watched three men, dressed in a similarly bizarre, armored fashion clamber out of the woods, each of them also in various states of dishevelment and injury.

"Get away from him, wench!" a tall blond man in a furred vest and boots and..._was that the flag of California on his shirt?_

Jessica stared in disbelief, then yelped as he raised an axe and ran toward her.

"Nay! She is a healer!" Angus managed to croak, lifting a palm to stop the charge. He swallowed against the dizziness swimming between his ears and throat as he listened to his comrades drawing closer to the house. He felt as if fire were spreading under his skin, the pain in his torso nearly overwhelming. He tried to smile up at them as they gathered around his lounge chair, Jessica quickly ripping open a suture kit before grabbing the bottle of antiseptic solution.

"Mr. McFife," she broke in, her brows knitting as his head rolled toward her, a drunken smile creasing his face.

"Angus," he slurred, and a deep frown darkened his light eyes. "Iona..." he murmured, not seeing his comrades look quickly at one another.

_"Angus,"_ Jessica tried to gain his attention once more, and was granted another smile.

"Aye, lass. I thought I'd lost you," he responded, trying to reach and touch her face, but the blond man grabbed his hand and set it back by his liege's side when he realized what the woman was trying to do.

"Angus, I'm going to have to sew your wound, and I don't have anything to lessen your pain," she warned him, her eyes full of apologies. "I have to do this now because this is a very bad injury and you don't have time to waste, okay?"

"Hoots, but you're pretty," was the reply, and she couldn't help the breathy chuckle that escaped.

She looked up at the warriors surrounding them. "Could one of you hold him down, please? This is going to hurt a lot."

They moved to assist, lifting Angus slightly so she could set a folded quilt under him. A man in a black uniform with gold tasseled epaulets finished removing the man's chest piece while Jessica cut his tunic open further, the cloth’s edges wet with crimson.

The doctor’s lips thinned with concern as she swabbed his skin with antiseptic and poured some over her gloved hands to clean them. She took up the needle and thread, then looked up to find Angus watching her, his blue eyes swimming with pain and exhaustion. “I’m sorry,” she whispered.

“Just do it, lass. I’ve dealt with worse,” he tried to assure her, looking over at another man in a red and blue hauberk and light armor as he clasped the Hammer-wielder’s hand.

“We’re here, my lord,” he rumbled, head nodding firmly.

Angus took a deep breath and let it out slowly, only to suck it back in shrilly as the needle pierced his flesh.


	2. Epic War Is Fight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Angus wakes up in a new world

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a warning, there is some injury mentions, with gore and violence in a battle setting.

It was the silence that woke him.

Angus' eyes opened slowly, blinking a couple of times as the world came back into focus. Above him, a wooden fan spun on the pale blue ceiling, whimsical bumblebees painted in flight over a mural of clouds.

He lay still, mentally assessing the state of his body. No cloying stickiness from sweat on the back of his neck or between his shoulderblades, though he knew he had perspired in his sleep from the fever. He had a vague recollection of heat bubbling under his skin, the dark whispers of a rage he hadn't thought possible eating him from inside. But it was gone, replaced with stillness and peace. He felt clearer, lighter, and even though the weakness in his body was still evident, he felt more himself. The woman must be a very great healer, indeed, to have saved him from such injuries.

At the thought of the doctor, he turned his head to see who was around him, only to find her asleep on a couch beside him, a blanket draped over her form. The dark auburn of her hair was twisted into a messy knot atop her head, and dark circles shadowed the skin beneath her eyelashes, evidence of how many hours she had tended to him. He looked at her hands, the nails short, her fingers strong and slender, and a simple timepiece encircled her wrist, the soft ticking underscoring her breathing. Worry set a crease between her brows, and he resisted the urge to reach out and smooth it, knowing she needed her own rest. He smiled, chuckling inwardly at how their introductions were anything but, and a hazy memory swam to the surface of her murmuring to him in the midst of a fever dream. Her voice had cut through the nightmare like cool water to a heated brow.

_Jessica._

He frowned. That name didn't seem right, but he couldn't remember why. His memories were blurred, loopy and thick from his fever. He could vaguely remember the reassuring pressure of her hand in his while she spoke to his men, the tone of their voices hushed with concern.

A grunt nearby had Angus looking over to see Sub-Commander Ralathor slumped in an armchair, asleep, a woven blanket draped over his legs and crossed arms. The legendary Hammer of Glory was propped beside the officer's chair, awaiting its master's return. Out of all of his companions, the former Hermit was the last one he would have thought to play nursemaid, but he appreciated the concern. His armor, cleaned and repaired, hung over a quilt rack nearby, his tunic and leggings folded neatly there also, along with his boots.

He eased himself up to a sitting position, the tightness of the bandages around his middle impeding the movement a little, but he managed it. He was shirtless, and he looked under the covers to find someone had dressed him in soft trousers for sleeping. He lay on a low couch, cool sheets and a coverlet swaddling him, and Angus realized the warriors must have carried him, lounge and all, into the house. He wondered where the others were until the sounds of weapons training out-of-doors reached him through the softly blowing curtains. Thin sunlight dappled the fabric that moved with a breeze coming in through the window, the early morning calls of birdsong punctuated by clashing weapons and teasing insults.

The group must have granted Jessica their trust and approval to leave their fallen ruler alone while they trained, Ralathor obviously relaxed enough to slumber while on guard. Angus grinned and propped his forearm on a bent knee, listening to the familiar sounds of his friends and allowing himself a chance to simply sit.

When the cheerful banter and regular clanging of metal turned suddenly to angry shouts and battle cries, the three indoors jolted upright. Angus ignored the tautness of his stitches as he kicked off his blankets and caught the Hammer that Ralathor threw to him, both men bolting to the back door. The noise of fighting escalated as the king wrenched it open, a horde of goblins pouring from the tall pines.

_**"For Fife!" **_Angus bellowed, rushing outside, heedless of his bare feet and lack of armor.

Behind him, Ralathor also gave chase, his boots snapping on the wooden planks of the porch as he pulled his laser-powered sidearms from their holsters and pounded down the steps to the yard.

Jessica followed, concern for her patient hastening her steps, but she grabbed the doorframe to keep herself upright when she looked out into her backyard.

Green creatures with pointed ears and horrible faces attacked the quartet of men, the fight nothing like the choreographed maneuvers seen in a film. She looked to Angus, the grin on his face from being in battle once more nearly as bright as the green flare of light emanating from the massive Hammer he swung. Despite the bandages decorating his tanned skin, he moved fluidly as he fought, the king and his men watching each other as best they could, defending their comrades from the onslaught. She wanted to call him back, worry for his health making her grab a baseball bat from the umbrella stand beside her. She hurried outside, knowing her skill in this setting would be woefully inadequate, no matter how many times she'd watched 'Braveheart.' She gaped as a death blow from The Hammer dissolved several of the creatures into green ash, bolts from Ralathor's pistols delivering the same fate to a couple of other monsters. 

Jessica held back a shriek as one of the goblins noticed her and rushed forward, and some hidden instinct, maybe left over from that self defense class she'd attended years ago, made itself known and she swept out a hard strike with her bat. The goblin nearly left its feet from the blow, staggering drunkenly only to be hit again and knocked down.

Across the grass, Angus spun to help when he saw the creature racing towards his caretaker, but his shout of warning changed to a bark of impressed laughter as she swung a wooden club and dealt the fiend a mighty blow, green ashes blowing as it was killed. He grimaced as he saw her gag slightly from what she'd done, though she swallowed back her disgust and moved towards another opponent.

"Careful, lad!" The Hootsman chuckled, looking over his shoulder at the king before turning to slash down with his battle axe, his own attacker dropping to the ground with a gurgle from its green lips before it, too, disintegrated. "You just left your sickbed after one fever, let's not add another to your accomplishments this week."

"Aye, don't get distracted lest you want to wind up under her needle once more!" Proletius teased, his bald head gleaming in the sunlight as he sent a pair of daggers winging into two opponents' chests. He laughed and ran forward to retrieve the blades that now quivered in the turf, spinning to slice down more goblins.

Angus rolled his eyes and shook his head at their mirth, then ran over to fight beside Ralathor, his friends' laughter carrying over the field.


	3. After the Goblins

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Angus learns the truth of his illness, their arrival on Earth, and Jessica witnesses what the Knife of Evil can do

Though the group of goblins was small, they were very wily, and the fight lasted longer than any of Angus’ company would have liked. The King, in spite of the initial rush of energy from the surprise attack, was tiring quickly, and his smile was grim when Jessica ran over to him, the battle winding down.

“You need to rest, Mr. McFife,” she panted, swiping the back of her hand over her forehead to get rid of the sweat.

“Ah, so we’re back to that, are we, Lady Jessica?” he smirked down at her, enjoying the look of surprise on her face. “Oh yes, I remember. Well, somewhat,” he admitted with a loose shrug.

“Well, unless you want a repeat of those fever dreams, I suggest you get back to bed,” she advised, turning as she felt heavy footsteps behind her and nearly clobbering Ser Proletius with her bat. She gasped and apologized, but he only laughed. The Grand Master of the Knights of Crail pushed the weapon away and shook his hand from the sting of blocking it. “You are an impressive fighter, my lady,” he praised, looking out over the field and his compatriots as they joined them.

“You’re looking a mite green, lad,” The Hootsman remarked to Angus. "I think it's best we get some food in ye, and let ye rest.” He surprised him by taking away the Hammer and handing it to Jessica before he guided the monarch back to the house. "Lady Jessica, if you would be so kind as to find a place for the Hammer, I'll see to getting us something to eat."

Angus started to protest, especially at the nonchalant way his ancestral weapon was being given over, but a disapproving arched brow from Ralathor stopped him as they walked.

“We just got you back, Your Majesty,” he said darkly. The group made its way back inside, the Commander holding the door open for the company. “I don’t know that we’d be so lucky a second time.”

McFife let himself exhale as he sat down on the couch where Jessica had been sleeping. He watched as Proletius carried the lounge back outside to make room, then accepted a cup of water from the Hootsman with thanks. The King of California and Unst nodded and strode out to the kitchen. “’Get me back’?” Angus repeated to Ralathor. “What do you mean, man? I have not left this room, as far as I can remember.”

Jessica sat down beside him and checked his bandages, pleased to see that he hadn’t re-opened his stitches. “You ran a bad fever and had a very fast heart rate,” she told him, checking his pulse against her watch, then looking him directly in his eyes. “We nearly lost you. That stab wound was worse than I had initially thought.” She shook her head, looking down as she unwrapped his knuckles, the skin there healing nicely. “You were ill for approximately three days.”

He stared at her then Ralathor and Proletius as they settled into seats around the room. “Truly?” he asked.

“Lady Jessica has taken leave of her healing center to care for you these past days, and we are grateful for it. You were stabbed with the Knife of Evil,” Ralathor said, crossing his legs and leaning back in his armchair. “You know what it can do; you know it turned that last dimension’s Proletius to Zargothrax’s side. Hoots was the one who opened the portal to this world, my King. He saw it as the only way to save you.”

Jessica pursed her lips at the Commander's thanks, and reached up to change the butterfly bandages on Angus' brow. "I did what I thought I should do," she muttered, Angus starting to turn his head to look at her, but she poked his jaw with one finger and put him back. He had to settle for looking at her out of the upper corner of his eyes.

"Thank you," he murmured, wincing when one of the strips tugged too hard on his skin.

She dipped her head to him and gave a soft smile. "I made an oath as a doctor to heal those who need help. Your men have a lot of knowledge of battlefield medicine, but this was nearly beyond all of us. I'm not entirely convinced that you were infected by magic, though Ser Proletius tells me that's what this Zargothrax specializes in. Magic is a possibility, I have to admit, but not necessarily a probability." She held up a hand before anything further could be said from her patient. "Believe me, it's going against so much in me to even say that. But," she continued, her voice sober, "judging by your vital signs while you were ill, the symptoms and behavior you exhibited, and the behavior your men have told me they've seen in other victims, I have a theory that there's also some sort of drug laced into or onto the metal."

Angus studied her, no traces of humor in his eyes. "What behavior did I exhibit?" he asked quietly as she smoothed the last bandage above his eyebrow.

_  
A scream of rage made Jessica come running down the stairs to find Angus facing off with the Hootsman in the middle of the living room. The King's eyes were wild and black with sorcery, his breathing heavy as he bared his teeth at his comrade. The Hammer of Glory was clutched in one hand, Hoots' own axe brandished in defense._

_"You are not worthy to wield this!" Angus snarled, lifting the Hammer. He ignored Ralathor and Proletius as they ran in from the kitchen. "You dare try to take it from me?"_

_"What's going on?" Jessica asked, starting to move closer, but Hoots shook his head at her._

_Angus, however, wheeled around to focus his glare on her. "Mind your business, woman!"_

_Her eyebrows rose toward her hairline. "You're in my house, bud, and under my care. Whatever has you so angry is absolutely my business! Put that thing down before you hurt someone."_

_"Hurting someone may be precisely what he's after," Ralathor muttered, ticking his head toward the door. The silent signal earned nods from the others._

_ "Got Zargothrax in your head, do you, boy?" Proletius jeered and unsheathed his sword with a cold ring of steel._

_Angus' smile was glittering and dark. "My Lord Zargothrax will reward me greatly when I deliver this weapon to him," he replied. "I can only imagine how much joy it will bring him to present your heads to him also," he added with a laugh._

_Proletius chuckled and inclined his chin at the King. "You're welcome to try. Shall we take this outside?"_

_Angus swept a mocking bow toward the door._

_"We're right behind you," Proletius said, following him outside._

_Jessica plucked at Ralathor's sleeve before he could go. "His stitches are still way too fresh for him to be fighting," she warned, glancing outside as Angus jogged down the front steps. "What's going on?"_

_"Zargothrax has a weapon, The Knife of Evil," the Commander began. "Whoever is harmed by its blade loses themselves to dark ways and madness. Anger and evil fill their minds, their strength grows, but so, too, does insanity. Those who fall under its spell declare themselves into that cursed sorcerer's service."_

_"Has anyone survived?" she asked, folding her arms, her forehead wrinkling in worry._

_Ralathor shook his head solemnly. "In the universe we just came from, their Proletius has become a dark mage because of the Knife, and does Zargothrax's twisted bidding, where once he was a noble Knight of Crail."_

_Jessica sighed and rubbed her eyes, then opened them to watch Angus charge at his friends with a feral shout. "Are you guys okay with me tranquilizing him?" she asked tiredly, folding her arms and looking up at Ralathor._

_"As we are not from this world I am wary of allowing you to ply him with your medicines, though I understand why you have thought of that kind of drug."_

_She nodded, glancing back outside, then racing down the steps when she saw her patient twisting his torso to put power into his swing. "No! Angus!" she screamed as he swept the Hammer around again._

_He shrieked as his skin tore anew, and he doubled over from the pain in his side and the even greater flash of agony in his head._

_Jessica clutched his arms, moaning as he stared at her with tears in his eyes, the blue flashing through the inky black formerly covering them. _

_"Jessica, please," he groaned. "He wants me to kill you, all of you! Please, go!"_

_She shook her head, feeling him trembling under her hands with the strain of warding off Zargothrax's thrall. "We're not leaving you, Angus. Fight! We're here with you!"_

_He whimpered through clenched teeth, his breathing speeding up again, and he shoved her forcefully away from him with a shout as she watched the black cover his gaze once more. "Away from me!" he roared, swinging the Hammer around again with his good arm._

_Jessica covered her mouth as she moved back, the thunder of weapons clashing harsh in her ears as the battle began. The king fought hard, truly like a man possessed, and she could tell that the other warriors were doing their best to hold back with their attacks for fear of truly injuring their friend._

_Unnoticed, Ralathor stepped away for a moment, his mouth set in a hard line as he pushed his sleeves further up his arms, nimble fingers tracing the air. Blue lines swirled into existence from nothing, glowing with power as they converged into runes, magicks the former Hermit hadn't allowed himself to access in a while coursing through his veins. He exhaled, closing his eyes for a second as he set his intention and focus, then ordered Proletius and the Hootsman to move. "Now!" he demanded when they didn't jump back quickly enough for his liking. He shoved the runes with the speed of a thought at the king, a quick flinch of shock showing on McFife's face as they hit. He cut his gaze to the Commander, a look of near-relief washing over him before he crumpled solidly to the turf below._

_"He's not dead!" Ralathor reassured them with a shout. "But I know not how long this will hold him, that accursed swine's magic is stronger than it should be!"_

_Hoots lifted Angus and strode back inside with him, leaving Proletius to retrieve the Gloryhammer and lead the way back indoors._

Jessica methodically put things away in the kit. "Heightened body temperature, aggression, paranoia, and possible hallucinations," she informed him. "Ralathor tells me this is very different from your normal behavior, which I'm glad to hear, but it's made for an interesting weekend." She patted his knee. "If you'll excuse me, I need to check in with my staff. I'll need to go back in to the office tomorrow for a few hours, and I want to see how they're doing today."

She stood, ruefully looking down at the grass clinging to her bare feet, then looked up quickly when Angus took her hand.

"I thank you, truly, for your care, my lady," he told her. "And for opening your home to us."

The doctor blushed, one corner of her mouth quirking up in an embarrassed smile. "You're welcome." She pulled her fingers away and walked down the hall to the stairs, Angus watching her go.

The Hootsman returned in time to catch the exchange, and Angus rolled his eyes at the grin splitting the god's face. "You look halfway besotted, my lord," he rumbled, setting down a tray with soup and a mug of tea beside the young ruler.

"I thanked her for her kindness, that's all," Angus insisted, lifting the cup and blowing on the hot liquid within.

"You never look at us that way when you say 'thank you'," Proletius commented, turning the pages of a book he'd found nonchalantly.

Angus glared at the three now-laughing warriors. "If it wouldn't cause a mess, I'd throw this tea at the lot of you," he swore, causing even more laughter.


	4. Chapter 3 redux

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just to say, I redid a bit of Chapter 3. Added in, took away.

I hope you like it!


End file.
